


If Shadows Have Offended

by buttercups3



Series: Through the Glass Darkly [2]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Charlie not so mildly crushing on Miles, F/M, Imagined incest, Masturbation, Miles potentially crushing on Charlie, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Charlie had come upon Miles in a different way than depicted in the episode "Chained Heat," after he abandoned the group to seek out Nora. This is pure masturbation smut (depicting my all-time favorite pairing: Miles/Miles) with smatterings of imagined incest. Part two of Through the Glass Darkly: a Charlie voyeurism series written for Charlie Matheson Appreciation Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Shadows Have Offended

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from William Shakespeare, "A Midsummer Night's Dream." No copyright infringement intended. I do not own Revolution.

Trailing Miles has not been as easy as she would have guessed, despite his very particular scent (whiskey, musk, testosterone – if that smells like something?) and his striding gait that wears down the secondary forest growth just so. She’s a talented tracker, a fair hunter. She was sure able to smoke out Jason and chain him up like a lost fawn, stamping and flaring his nostrils in fury at being bested by a girl. She had to fight the juvenile urge to pants him as she departed…or maybe it was less impish desire and more the budding heat in the pit of her belly that confirms she wouldn’t have minded seeing his bare butt. That feeling _beneath_ her belly, really - achy like menstrual cramps but not entirely unpleasant – just a constant thud of unfulfillment. The feeling accompanied by the mental image of a dick – its skin taut, foreskin retracted, revealing the delicate meat of the head. But there aren’t any willing dicks around – not like back home where everyone was bored in the village and constantly feeling each other up. Charlie hadn’t gone all the way with anyone yet, but she’s pulled on more than a few cocks in her time. She’s had a tongue or two inside of her.

But if she’s honest (and that’s the only way to be with oneself), there’s only one dick that’s been on her mind since stumbling into the Grand in Chicago. Sure it’s taboo, but can something imaginary really be wrong? They really only just met, and her loins don’t know he’s family, only her brain does. Night’s falling now like a cheap curtain, and she suddenly senses the nearness of another human, so she quickly scampers up a tree and retracts into the cooling shadows of its branches.

It’s him. Miles drops his pack and shoves his hands into its depths to retrieve something that looks like beef jerky. He tears off a bit with his teeth and takes a glug of water. And that’s it. His solitary, paltry little meal is done. It makes Charlie feel damn lonely for him. Miles removes his sword belt and props up against her tree, lounging with his legs apart. His limbs take up an extravagant amount of space like they belong to a man who is seven feet tall instead of six. Miles looks around for a moment and then undoes his fly.

Charlie blushes deep crimson at the thought of what Miles is about to do, but Miles has no reason to be shy. He pulls out his cock and balls and rests then on his underwear, and she watches him yank the poor things to life like he’s wringing a squirrel’s neck with the intention of cooking it for dinner. If Charlie laid her hands on his penis, she’d be caring, adoring – lick her fingers and slide them along the veins as they pumped arousal to his tip. From the aerial view she can most clearly see the shiny, defenseless head – watches as the slit liberates the smallest droplet of moisture. Miles throws his head back against the bark, his eyes closed, his tongue stuck between his lips. She can see the muscles of his neck work.

Wet seeps out from Charlie’s folds, and her underwear sticks to her uncomfortably. She wants so badly to dip in her fingers and smear the wetness onto her clit. But she might fall out of the tree into Miles’s lap, if she’s not careful…not that that’s not unappealing prospect, just a potentially fatal one. She’s not entirely sure Miles wouldn’t slit her throat with the jagged edge of his left sword after learning she’d been following him, let alone watching him masturbate.

Miles grunts and shifts his balls in his fingers like marbles, equally violent with this even more delicate part of himself. His dick is getting raw – Charlie can tell by how red and irritated the skin looks – but he continues his self-assault without mercy. Finally, he poises his lips above the head and deposits spit on it, working the insufficient lubricant into the brutal strokes.

Charlie slides her vulva the minutest distance on the branch supporting her weight and then back again, trying to create friction in time with Miles’s unkind ravaging of his dick. If he opened his eyes, he would see her, his head is tossed so far back, but his eyes remain forcefully shut, crinkling the skin of his face all the way to his temples.

His lips part, and he whispers, “Charlie,” so quietly it could be a dream.

Now she does almost fall out of the tree.

She doesn’t get a second chance to confirm, so maybe she did imagine it. “Ummf,” Miles bites his lip and jerks himself to climax, the pearly coming spurting upwards in a small fountain of rapture. God, he’s a squirter – more than any of those pansy boys back home.

Miles’s hand is gentle now, stroking his cock a few more times, as come continues to seep out, like he’s got enough seed to repopulate Earth after the Great Dying. He smoothes his palm over the oozing head and then finally lets it drop. Charlie watches the life drain from his dick and licks her lips. She feels as though she’s got a fever that’s contained between her waist and her thighs, and there’s nothing she can do to cool it.

Or there is. She could hop down from the tree, climb up his limp legs like a stray cat, and lick the drying come from his perfect penis.

But no. She’s nothing but his shadow in this tree, more dream than real, intruding on a fantasy that is quite possibly hers alone. She’ll never be sure.


End file.
